


roses

by milkovichh



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Chaptered, M/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkovichh/pseuds/milkovichh
Summary: Mickey figured he’d match the rest of his family in the fact that he’d never have his own rose. Not everyone had a soulmate, after all, and being a filthy, closested criminal, he figured he’d never be ‘destined’ to someone either.Naturally, it was just his luck that when he turned sixteen, an inked image of a colorless rose appeared on his skin.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been years since Mickey had seen a rose in his home. The one he scarcely remembers was from when he was still learning how to walk, back when he was just a toddler; a single rose in a vase of water, despite the fact that it didn’t need it, the flower wiltering, each day having a black petal fall from the once-red rose, and each day seeing that saddening look in his mother’s hazed eyes. His mom was always high off her ass anyway, it wasn’t like she could explain to him as a toddler what roses meant. However, something about that wiltering rose must have made sense to her doped-up brain, because on the day the final petal fell, she died.

  Having been only young, Mickey never took her death harshly. Hell, he couldn’t even tell you now how exactly she died — she had either taken far too much substance, offed herself, or Terry had snapped and killed her. None of those seemed too far off abnormality for a Milkovich. It was only when Mickey was about six that he learnt why people seemed to be obsessed with roses, for they were tied with soulmates, and he learnt that most of his family had never had their own rose. He learnt that the more a rose wilted, the less love the person’s soulmate had for them. Unfortunately, his mother was landed with Terry as a soulmate, and the fucker didn’t even have a rose to match.

  Growing up, Mickey figured he’d be like the rest of his family in the fact that he’d never have his own rose. Not everyone had a soulmate, after all, and being a filthy, closested criminal, he figured he’d never be ‘destined’ to someone either. 

  Naturally, it was just his luck that when he turned sixteen, an inked image of a colorless rose appeared on his skin.

 

 The day started with the sounds of Terry opening his bedroom door, the wood knocking against the wall to startle Mickey awake. Instantly, his hands were lifting in defence, the air almost knocked out of his lungs at a simple sound, but his father wasn’t bothered by him at all, today. The raven-haired figured he was probably too hungover to give a shit about beating his kid for nothing, as he watched the man amble through the mess of his bedroom belching, followed by the sound of him taking a piss. Before Mickey could roll back over onto his stomach and resume his sleep, he noticed the itching in his hip.

  Lazily, he reached a hand down to scratch, only to find that the skin burned harshly under his touch. Hissing a curse, his eyes snapped open and he pushed his boxers down slightly to observe the outlining of a rose inked into his reddened skin. The image had no color to it yet, just a simple rose, the stem trailing neatly into his v-line. It appeared just like a tattoo, but fuck, Mickey knew what it was all too well. Of fuckin’ _course_ he had a soulmate.

  Before he had time to mourn the inevitability of a nice life without being tied down to someone like some bitch, he heard the creaking pipes and loud, broken sound of the toilet flushing and he rolled over quickly, even if it hurt, to hide the marking from his father, who thought the soulmate thing was for pussies. Black hair spread across the pillow as he pretended to be asleep, heart racing in his chest, eyes too tightly shut to be realisitic, the thumping of Terry’s footsteps making him too attentive. Shit, it shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

  “Aye, Mandy’s makin’ breakfast.”

  The words took a second to process, but Terry was wandering out of the room and leaving the door wide before Mickey could have asked for a repeat (which he wouldn’t’ve).

  It took longer than usual for him to get his shit together, since his mind was too-set on the new tattoo adorning his hip. Granted, the joy of the ‘rose’ thing was that it showed no hint of the gender of whom his soulmate was, since, deep down, Mickey knew it would be a guy. Even if he wished and hoped he’d meet a girl soon, with long flowing hair and nice tits, and his rose would color red, he fucking knew his life would never be that easy. It’d be a guy. Either way, he needed no further reason for his father to beat him, since having a soulmate was a weakness and Terry would be throwing fists faster than anything at having raised a pussy. 

  Throwing on another tank top, a shirt and an unnecessary jacket to be sure nothing would ride up, and some pants, he left his room with a slam of his door. In the Milkovich house, fear translated into anger and aggression quite easily. Sure enough, the clan of Milkovichs were gathered at the small table, his younger sister busied with frying eggs, bacon, buttering toast, and pouring orange juice in the kitchen. Sighing, he sat with the other members of the family, knowing that Terry made Mandy act like a damn mother and maid in the house and it would be stupid to try and help her or else suspicion rose, and the last thing Mickey needed was anymore suspicious — especially already on-edge with the damn itching on his hip. 

  “Fuck’s up with you?” Iggy asked, red lining his eyes as he took a swig from a can instead of the juice Mandy had poured for him. “Look like you got a dick up your ass.”

  “And you’d know, wouldn’t you, faggot?” Mickey sniped back, glaring at him from across the table. It wasn’t like it wasn’t usual for them to be dissing gay people, since Terry drilled that into them good enough, and hell, it even made Mickey feel slightly better to do so.

  Iggy said nothing, instead threw a nice spoonful of poorly scrambled egg at him, to which he flipped him off and stole his pack of cigarettes. Whatever, he could ignore this tattoo and go on like normal and nobody would know or care.

  Mandy was placing down Mickey’s plate of food, and he nodded at her as thanks, since wording it was too grateful in this house, when Tony was speaking loudly around a mouthful of food. “Oi, Mandy’s got her rose!”

  Heads snapped up quickly, and Mandy stepped back, one hand holding her wrist, which indeed had the design of a rose tattooed onto it. “Not all of us are incapable of love, dickbreath. Had it for about three weeks, not that you’d notice.”

  Colin snorted, shovelling more food into his throat while speaking. “Aye, which boyfriend is it? Darron or Malcolm?”

  Reaching over the table to smack him around the head, Mandy snapped, “His name’s _Matthew_. I don’t know, it ain’t got color yet.”

  Sniggers went around, even though nothing was funny.

  “Slut,” Mickey said, because Mickey liked to contribute. He’d never say it relieved him to know he wasn’t the only Milkovich with a rose, at least, even if the difference was in the fact that Mandy was a girl.

  After eating their breakfast messily, the family all started to leave. Terry just wandered off like he did, pouring a small amount of powder onto his hand and snorting it as he went, Iggy snagging a cigarette from Mickey and boasting about the girl he was off to bang, Tony and Colin shoving each other as they grabbed guns from the cupboard and discussed a run to go on, leaving the youngest siblings. Mandy sighed, stacking plates and carrying them to the sink to dump them, while Mickey remained seated at the table.

  “What you waiting for, asshole? Ain’t makin’ you anythin’ else to eat.”

  “Fuck off, bitch, don’t want your shitty cooking anyway,” he spoke, blue eyes remaining on the tattoo that he could see on her arm. He waited in the silence while Mandy cleared the table, biting at his lips until he couldn’t help but ask, “so, your rose, huh?”

  “Yeah, fuck’s it got to do with you?” she lifted a brow. Smirking, he lifted his hands in a surrendering way.

  “Know who it is?”

  “Were you not fuckin’ listenin’ before? I don’t _know_ , Mickey.”

  He grinned, a grin of while he knew was slimy and made Mandy roll her eyes. “Aye, jus’ curious! Wanna know who the unlucky guy is.”

  “Fuck off, at least I _have_ one!” she threw him a middle finger for good measure, while he leaned back and smoked his cigarette, smile fading because little did she know, he found out this morning that he had one, too. “Hopin’ it’s that Gallagher, though.”

  “Gallagher?” he scrunched his face up in disgust. “The fuckin’ asshole one with the good weed?”

  “Nah, but I wouldn’t rule him off,” she smirked, “no, his brother. Ian. Ya know, ginger, green eyes.”

  “Seriously?” he asked, not that he really knew Ian Gallagher. He’d met his brother a couple times, and fucking hated the guy because he made Mickey feel dumb in comparison, had only seen Ian with his asshole brother, in some kind of fucking army get-up and his red bangs, and he looked to be scared as shit. “Ain’t he a virgin? Looks stupid, weak as shit.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Mickey, he’s actually really fuckin’ nice. Tripped the teacher that was shovin’ his fuckin’ boner in my face durin’ class. Won’t give me the time of day, though.”

  “You tried pushing up your tits? Never seems to fail your other eighteen boyfriends.”

  “Of course I’ve tried! He just smiles and carries on working!”

  “What the fuck ever, bitch, I ain’t tryna help you get some dick.” He pushed away from the table, throwing his cigarette as he went, running a hand through his greasy hair to spike it up while he went to grab a coat to pull on. “Goin’ out, you want anythin’?”

  “Get me a snickers,” she called back, her shoes making clicking noises against the ground as she finished cleaning up the kitchen. Mickey would never understand how it made sense: Terry didn’t care for mess, but would threaten the hell out of Mandy if she didn’t act like a cleaner. As much as he hated to say aloud, Mickey hated leaving Mandy alone, since he knew his father had a tendency to hurt Mandy mistaking her for their dead mom, and he and his brothers had been there to stop him the last few times. He was a cunt, but he wouldn’t just let Terry hurt Mandy like that, since she did have some place in his heart, as tainted and icy as he wanted it to seem. 

  Saying nothing, Mickey left the house, mind far away from the tattoo on his hip now. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so fucking bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its a bad start but im not good at starting fics so i promise it will get better !! its gonna be chaptered, following canon events with the soulmate twist on it, so i hope it doesnt suck. comments are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this sucks so bad im so sorry, im tryna get through all the shit that starts off season one quickly

“Ian Gallagher!” Mickey’s voice is loud, the door of the store slamming shut behind him and his brothers. “You messed with the wrong girl!”

  The skinny frame of Gallagher goes bolting to the right side of the store, Mickey and his brothers shortly behind. The door slams as they reach it, and Mickey throws himself at it repeatedly, cursing the fucker behind it and throwing threats as he hit and shoved the door. It’d been a few days since he could hardly tell the Gallaghers apart, but now he knew which was Ian — more specifically, which one he wanted to kill. 

  The days had been going fine since he found his rose inked into his hip. Mostly, he acted as though it was not there, dirtying himself to the point that nobody would know the difference between tattoo and general muck on his pale skin. It ticked at the back of his mind at night, tugged at his thoughts persistently, yet Mickey was setting his mind to ignoring his soulmate, the rose, and everything the world was built on. It was only when Mandy came home one night, eyes puffy and red, telling him that Ian Gallagher had raped her that his few days of normality were flipped. 

  “He’s gone,” announced the voice of the bitch who ran this place. “There’s a door in the back of the storage room.”

  Mickey thought about it, rage pumping through his veins. What right did Gallagher have to touch on Mandy and then run away from the fucking consequence? “Alley! Alley!” he was screaming, letting his brothers go first before he was pinning the man to a wall, in his face, speaking through gritted teeth as he yelled, “Tell fuckhead this isn’t over!”

  As Mickey ran, his mind was so far from the rose on his hip and who’s may or may not match it. He came back momentarily to prove his point, grabbing some food and spitting the wrapper at ‘Kash’ and left with a filthy grin on his face. The point was to show the guy exactly who he was messing with, since protecting his sister didn’t make him some kind of bitch. Besides, the dude was probably perving on the Gallagher kid, anyway, he seemed the type. At least, to Mickey, he did — fucking coward, he probably took it up the ass, too.

  Ian, behind the door of the storage, watched with a racing heart and wide green eyes as his rose finally gained a color. It was an actual, physical flower, opposed to the tattooed kind, and had been colorless in the few days he’d had it. His hopeless romantic heart was hoping it’d gain a beautiful red, but it sank as he watched a deep black shade take over a petal on his rose. It didn’t make sense, but neither did most things right now — the Mandy situation, the Kash situation, Lip finding out he’s gay, Kev and V tying the knot, and the unexpected appearance of his rose. He’d been carrying it around out of fear of Carl burning it, like he did with most things, waiting for a single petal to change, to show him he’d found his soulmate, but the solid black he was staring at showed that his soulmate hated him already. 

  The next few days followed in the same fashion of hiding from the Milkovich brothers and stooping a level of cowardace that even Kash was barely above. The flower remained unchanged, something which was just a horrid bonus to his list of problems right now, as he refused to speak to somebody about it. The more he thought about it, the more he worried. Kash wasn’t his soulmate, which he was thankful for. He liked Kash, really, but the guy had a family, let his wife walk all over him, and was probably scared of his own shadow. Ian wanted someone better than that: someone who could be proud to be with him before he completed ROTC and joined the army. As it looked with the Milkovichs, though, he probably wouldn’t live that long. 

  It bugged him, his hatred to be hiding competing with his bravery and want to finally be out of this, until he saw Lip, bloodied and beaten. He apologised, since Lip hadn’t done anything to deserve it, and they shared a blunt while they spoke about Mandy and how Ian would eventually have to take the beat-down for this. He needed a plan, but the high of the weed was affecting his brain too much right now, so he merely dug into his pocket and threw the crumpled rose at Lip.

  “Shit, man.”

  Ian nodded, sitting down heavily next to his brother, eyeing the rose in distaste. “I got it the other day.”

  “Already got a black petal?”

  “Yeah,” he hated that his voice wavered a bit, but he could blame it on the weed instead of the fact that he was genuinely upset about how his soulmate would probably always hate him, since he hated him before they’ve even met. “Haven’t even met the guy.”

  Lip smirked, taking a drag of the blunt and looking at the rose. “Definitely a guy, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Ian said, dull.

  “Really? You sure the shit with Karen or Mandy didn’t turn you on? Not even a little?”

  “No,” the redhead took a drag of the blunt. “I’m not ... wired that way, I guess.”

  “Suit yourself, man, nothing better than a good—”

  “Fuck off,” Ian clipped in before Lip could begin to list something vulgar. He was glad Lip wasn’t as freaked out by the black petal as he was, but Lip was also probably floating as high as a kite by now, so anything he said would have been chilled. It might not have been the answer he wanted — but even Ian didn’t know what he wanted to hear. That his rose fucked up and it was impossible? That he’d just have to live with it? Perhaps the soulmate was the last of his worries, since he’d seen the ‘Ian Gallagher is a dead man!’ graffiti, and that was a promise, not a threat. He was too high to care right now. 

 

It was cold the next morning, as Ian hid behind some trash cans across the street from the Milkovichs. He was scared, but he had to put an end to this either way, even if it meant potentially ending up in hospital (which would be V’s kitchen because they were Gallaghers and couldn’t afford hospital bills). The baseball bat in his hand was splitering his skin from how tight he held it, breath coming out short and in whisps of white clouds.

  Suddenly, someone was touching his arm and he nearly ended up hitting Lip as he jumped, cursing. Lip grinned, looking up over the trash to see the house, which still was quiet. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, as he squatted by Ian.

  “Hit Mickey over the head with the bat when he comes out of the house,” Ian spoke quickly, since that’s about as far as his plan had gotten, checking back between the trash to see the door was still shut. 

  “What about the other brothers?”

  “They’ll probably beat me to death.”

  Lip grabbed a brick, smiling. “I’ll fight them off while you run.”

  “This is my problem, alright? Not yours,” what drove Ian to say that, he wasn’t sure. He was independent, he liked to think, and he didn’t want Lip taking another beating for something he’d caused ... kind of caused. Maybe he was hoping he could straighten something out here, but that would be stupid, since the Milkovichs were never known for their negotiation skills. 

  “Eh, it’ll be fun,” Lip grinned. The older was probably more stubborn than Ian, so they both turned back to the house as the door creaked. Ian felt his heart racing, going up onto his toes even as he was crouched down, ready to run and hit Mickey. Except ... it wasn’t Mickey. As Mandy walked out of the house, coat hugged tight around her, Ian contemplated his decisions. She wasn’t with anyone, but it was dangerous territory nonetheless. Handing the bat to Lip, he made his decision and ran across the street to catch up to her, hoping she’d listen to him.

  “Mandy! Mandy, hey,” he tried keeping his voice calmer, force out the panic in it. She glanced then walked quicker, even though Ian was fast. 

  “Get away from me you fucking perv!” she’d stopped but she was close to yelling. So close to her own house, Ian knew he could easily be being beaten within minutes. 

  “We need to talk,” he tried, but she only glared and pointed at him harshly.

  “You are a dead man, Ian Gallagher. Fucking dead.”

  She turned, walking fast away from him as if he really had done what she’d accused. Fuck. “I’m gay.” She paused. 

  Ian had never said those exact words aloud, but now his throat felt tight. He could hear his heartbeat so much it was hurting his head, and his stomach felt like lead. When Mandy turned, though, she didn’t look angry, instead confused.

  They ended walking together in a more private place, Ian elaborating on what he meant. She seemed so surprised, whispering the words ‘being gay’ like it was a bad thing, but Ian wouldn’t hold that against her. Hell, he was grateful she was even listening, not telling her dad so he could beat up another gay guy in the neighbourhood.

  “No ... I thought you maybe made it up so I’d call my brothers off,” he said, stopping in her tracks. “Or ... you think I’m ugly, or something.”

  Ian stopped, turning around slowly. “Mandy, you’re beautiful. I wish this,” he showed her the rose briefly before shoving it away, not wanting her to see the black petal within it, “would color red and you were my soulmate and this’d all be easier. But ... I’m just not ... wired that way.”

 

At dinner that evening, Mandy casually threw in that they could stop trying to kill her boyfriend. Once questioned ‘which one?’, she clarified that Ian Gallagher hadn’t done anything.

  Honestly, it didn’t surprise Mickey. He had chased Ian on Mandy’s word, of course, but that didn’t mean he could truly understand how that situation happened in the first place. Ian was skinny, lanky, and seemed like such a dork that Mandy could have easily beat his ass if he tried to hurt her. Mandy seemed too smitten for this Gallagher, already, anyway, so Mickey threw an insult at her and let the hunt for Ian Gallagher stop, because he was sick of it, himself.

  Instead, he decided to torment the ‘Kash & Grab’ once more, knowing he could both scare Mandy’s new boyfriend shitless and get free shit out of it (he got a kind of kick from seeing Kash doing fuck all against a teenager) — plus, nowhere else seemed to stock both barbecue and sour cream Pringles. At first it was funny, but then it started becoming some kind of instinct. His hip itched every time he went, but he brushed it off as the fact that Ian Gallagher was kind of cute, and he himself hadn’t gotten laid in a while.

  Ian fucking hated it. He cared about Kash, and he knew that this known criminal piece of shit Milkovich was fucking him over. He should stay out of Mickey’s way, in all honesty, but he also figured he had a reason to hate the kid, for trying to kill him and all. Especially if he was hurting Kash, who seemed to be the only person showing near signs of being his soulmate by now. Ian was feeling a little helpless on that front, since the rose hadn’t changed at all, and he was beginning to wonder if it was somehow ... broken.

  After confronting Mickey, it kept happening, and was driving Ian near insane. He was sick of it being taken out of his paycheck, sick of seeing Kash looking defeated, and had tried asking Mandy but she only said that she had no control over what Mickey did.

  “Mickey? Again?” he questioned, following Kash and demanding answers. All Kash did was carry on. Ian cupped the guy’s face, tilting it to see the bruise, and he hated how his heart tugged upon seeing it. Naturally, he assumed it was because he liked Kash. But really, something about it felt so off, so _wrong_. Either way, he said he’d fix it, and he would.

 

Being nudged in the middle of his back caused Mickey to wake quickly, on the defence fast. All he heard was the soft, yet authoritive voice of Ian Gallagher, who stood in his room armed with a tire iron. For fuck’s sake. “Gallagher?”

  “The gun,” he demanded.

  “Alright, alright,” Mickey’s hip sent a jolt through him. He sat up groggily, pissed off, now, and turned to grab the ginger and throw him quickly into the wall. Nobody in the house would know, since the walls were all covered in blood stains and marks and holes from where their anger stuck without a person around.

  There was something thrilling about fighting with Gallagher. The redhead was stronger than he looked, and Mickey had always loved to fight those who could give as good as they got. It was strange, but it made him feel more validated. Since he couldn’t exactly fuck guys, fighting them was as close as he’d get. All hands and rough, grunts of pain, and such, it all gave him a thrill. Made him feel like more of a man, a Milkovich, than a fag who ran from a fight.

  The damn tattoo wouldn’t give up in it’s burning itch as he finally had Ian pinned down, eyes hard as he held a tire iron high. Green eyes were gazing up at him, scared, then flickered down to his crotch. It was such a sudden change, sure, but Mickey’s blood was flowing from a good fight and the rose inked into him seemed to be powering off some kind of drug-like feeling into his body.

  He was pulling off his shirt, then Ian’s, shoving his sweats down in the mad rush to undress. Ian kept his gloves on, eyes shading dark as he looked Mickey up and down.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grunted as he rolled onto his hands and knees.

  Thankfully, neither saw how the rose on Mickey’s hip was filling up in the colors of red. 


	3. Chapter 3

The feeling of eyes on him made Mickey uneasy as he tugged up the sheets of his bed to cover his hips. He’d never admit how exactly having Gallagher stare at him weirded him out, since he could simply stare back if it were anyone else, a threat on his lips to force them to drop the gaze. However, Mickey’s body was filled with a high-resembling feeling, as if he’d smoked some really good weed, even if his mind was conflicted, confused. He couldn’t even light a cigarette, since his were on the dresser and laying still was all he could feel like doing.

  If he weren’t so prepared, he may have gotten lost in that high and missed the way his door opened. However, his upbringing had him shoving Ian further away, even if the coolness in his side was forcing that high away. The pair watched Terry amble through his bedroom, not sparing them half a glance. The bathroom door remained open, which Mickey wasn’t sure if he preferred or not, eyes darting to the ginger, hands shaking as his mouth felt dry. His throat was tight, like the pipes had twisted and were slowly choking him, but even if he could move or speak, he wasn’t sure he would.

  Fear sparked, replacing anything good he may have felt, as Terry was leaving. “Mandy’s makin’ eggs.” There was a bitter déjà vu in this situation, the same terrified feeling filling him as it did the day he found the marking on his hip. It would be ironic for him to finally have not been careful enough, to get both him and Ian killed, on the same day that his rose gained its first color, unbeknownst to him. Maybe the world slowed, or maybe he’d been holding his breath for too long, as Terry turned and eyed them both. Mickey kept his eyes up, hoping his fear would never show, glued to the poster of the naked woman on his wall, as if it’d make this situation look any straighter. “Put some clothes on, you two look like a couple’a fags.”

  Gallagher layed back with a sigh, relieved, and it seemed like an appropriate reaction. It was the first time Mickey really acknowledged the boy, and how he was gay. Did Mandy know her boyfriend was gay? Sure, he hardly cared; Mandy cheated on all her boyfriends as it was, Ian ‘cheating’ on her shouldn’t be a big deal, regardless of with her brother or not.

  “Get dressed. Then, get the fuck out.” Unable to look at the kid in the eye, Mickey only heard Ian exhale and then move to get dressed. Mickey was quicker, pulling on loose jeans and a tight black shirt, leaving him time to wander to his dresser to look for the gun. He saw it as a kind of peace offering, a way of saying ‘don’t say a god damn word’ and ‘let me see you again’ at the same time.

  Green eyes jumped to meet his own when he dropped it on the bed. His eye was bruised, outlined by the red and purpling wounded skin, and the raven-haired’s heart jumped in a kind of guilt. Gallagher was cute — freckles, wide eyes, a dorky smile, and the bruise didn’t belong on his milky white skin. He was leaning in, though, and Mickey was quick to spin around, grouching, “kiss me and I’ll rip your fucking tongue out.”

  Despite this, something in the back of his mind pondered what Ian’s lips felt like. He’d kissed his shoulder once during their fuck, but Mickey was too high on that euthropic feeling to notice or take much note. All he knew was that it made a nice, tingling feeling spread straight (ha fucking ha) from his hips to the rest of him. Whatever. It was done, and he stood by his statement.

  It was over far too soon. Gallagher was gone, back to his fucking perverted boyfriend. This was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, adrenaline too high for two teenage boys to avoid.

  It was painful to swallow, sniffing as he rubbed at his nose out of nervous habit. Sighing, he finally let his guard back down, sitting back down on his bed, grabbing his smokes and lighting one. His hip was itching, like something was crawling under the skin and tormenting him, exactly the same way his chest used to feel when he realised he liked dick instead of pussy. Annoyed, he felt himself snap — his tattooed fingers were wrapping around the nearest weighted object and throwing it hard at the wall, watching it dent and letting the loud bang fade into white noise.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, pinching his nose. He was angry. At Ian? No. Angry at the fact that he knew he should go and beat the shit out of the redhead, force him to keep his mouth shit, that he should be mad at Gallagher for even thinking about coming into his house while Terry was home, but he wasn’t. He was angry at himself for letting this shit happen. Tugging his shirt up, he shoved his cigarette into where the itch on his skin was, feeling the harsh burn of the stick imprint his skin further. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could burn the bullshit rose off. He couldn’t bring himself to even glance at what he was doing as he shoved the cigarette into his skin, hissing and pulling it away before tossing it, unhappy with how much worse it made him feel.

 

Ian wasn’t a bad kid, he knew. He knew Mickey knew it, too, otherwise he wouldn’t have slept with him: bad never went with bad, did it? God, he was glad Mickey didn’t see the rose, though, since it colored further. Not much, just a contrasting white petal next to the black, and unknown love blooming quite literally. If Mickey had seen it, he would have seriously ruined Ian. As far as the redhead knew, no Milkovich but Mandy had a rose, because they had no love. They were born to be criminals and people who did nothing good with themselves.

  Shit, it should have hurt to know that his soulmate may not even have a rose himself. But it made Ian grin to himself as he twisted the flower in his hands delicately, eyeing the two petals that clashed — much like himself and Mickey. It was such a bittersweet romantic feeling. At least he understood his soulmate, now, why the rose was black before anything, and that maybe Mickey had a chance of liking him back. Weren’t their fates tied now? He felt obsessive over it, shoving the rose under his pillow when the door opened and Carl came in, not even raising a brow at the way Ian sat up straighter like he’d been snapped.

  “You got a knife?”

  “Might have one from ROTC. Why?” He attempted casual, but Carl was a kid, and an oblivious one at that. Ian wondered if Carl would ever get a rose, and it was almost depressing to think that he may spend his life lonely as a psychopath. Whatever, he seemed happy enough  

  “Wanna learn how to use it. Kev said girls love it if you know how to.”

  “Um ... yeah, sure,” Ian pointed towards the desk under Lip’s bed, and Carl grinned as he rooted through a drawer to retrieve the knife. Saying something along the lines of a thanks, Carl left, the door swinging shut behind him and leaving Ian back on his own to ponder Mickey Milkovich and how he wanted to go about juggling between the closested asshole and the married man of which he liked. Though, really, if that was what it was like to fuck with someone his own age, what the fuck was he doing risking fucking Kash?

 

“Goin’ out!” Mickey called, grabbing his coat and pulling it on, running a hand through his hair. It was slightly less messy, but still styled in some kind of weird, thug way. Not like he was trying to impress, though.

  “Where?” Mandy snapped back from her place on the sofa, XBOX controllor in hand and mouth chewing loudly on gum.

  “Out, you nosy bitch,” he rolled his eyes, turning away from her direction to wrap his scarf around his neck. He didn’t have to keep it from her, he was only going to the fucking store, but his good mood recently directed straight into curses and insults. It was his way of affection, at least. That’s how it was, how it’d always be. Unfortunately for whoever landed as his soulmate — hypothetically, of course, since he still thought the idea was complete bullshit and was planning on ignoring the poor fucking until his grave. Just because he was going to fuck Ian Gallagher didn’t mean anything other than Ian was cute, could fuck, and wouldn’t tell anyone.

  “Shithead.”

  “Whore.”

  He chuckled as she threw an empty box of what once was noodles at him, slipping out of the door and letting it swing, without actually closing. The walk to the Kash and Grab wasn’t far, so he simply walked, hands shoved in his pockets to keep from the cold.

  The annoying chime of the door had him rolling his eyes, looking over the old lady who seemed to be trying to get out as fast as she could, to see Ian Gallagher, with stupid fucking smile and bangs. Gallagher wasn’t really his type, with his slim frame and goofy, starlight look in his eyes. But he was always quite happy, god damn Gallagher, and Mickey silently thanked his sister for at least picking a hot one this time.

  As he watched the woman shuffle away, he recalled the first time he slept with one of Mandy’s boyfriends. The kid was big, broad and had challenging blue eyes to compete with Mickey’s own. Mickey topped him anyway, because he was a Milkovich and would never be someone’s bitch, but he fucking hated replaying _that_ as his first time with a guy. He was fourteen, and it had been quiet (though not the comfortable quiet), save a few grunts and hisses of half-assed comments about feeling good, the bed creaking uncomfortably. It hadn’t given him that cool, satisfying feeling that Gallagher had, but he passed it off as the fact that he let Gallagher top without losing any of his own dominance. Yeah. That was it. 

  “You got any Slim Jims in this shithole?” Mickey eyed Ian, as if he was actually asking, and the ginger only returned a cheeky grin that made him look younger than fifteen, locking the door behind the woman and brushing Mickey’s arm as he passed.

  “In the back room,” he spoke, a flirt underlining his voice. Mickey would swear, if he knew no better, that this kid was such a fucking twink. It cracked a grin from the older, though, as he followed, shrugging off his jacket and such along the way. 

  “We gotta be quick,” Gallagher was saying, pulling Mickey’s hoodie over his head, the shorter male only snorting with a grin.

  “Hurry up, then, asshole,” he teased, blue eyes staring with a determination that made Ian wonder if he really was in control here. In reality, he was not, since Mickey dictated what was or what was not okay, and Ian agreed, not wanting his soulmate running off just because he fucked up while horny or some shit. Instead of saying anything, Ian licked his lips, looking down at Mickey’s own and getting a shove in response. “Don’t even think about it, just get the fuck on me.”

  Apparently, the ginger was set on not listening today, because oppose to turning Mickey around and fucking him, like the boy wanted, he sank to his knees and toom his loose jeans with him. Mickey rolled his eyes, even if he was rather pleased anyway. He tipped his head back, completely ready to be selfish, when he felt Ian pause in his nudging of clothing and tugging boxers down. Looking down, he saw Gallagher curiously pushing up his tank top, eyes tracing the stem and thorns of the tattoo.

  “Gallagher—” he snapped, batting Ian’s hands, but Ian was intruiged. His mind was racing, trailing far away from his original goal, pushing up the tank top to see the rose. He honestly couldn’t tell you much of what he expected, since the only person in his family who had the tattoo oppose to a real flower was Frank, and he went into his ‘love of my life’, ‘fucking bitch’, ‘used to make such good love until you shits came along’ Monica rant if he was questioned on the fully-red rose tattoo he had on the inside of one of his fingers.

  Mickey was seeing the worst as Ian uncovered the rose, one red petal standing out. The kid smiled briefly, making the older so much more pissed off — this was not his right. This was Mickey’s personal fucking business. His fingers were tracing it, until he hit where the burn was and the Milkovich winced, slapping Ian upside the head. “Stand the fuck up, faggot.”

  “Mickey— fuck, I’m s—”

  “No fuckin’ talkin’, man. Get on me, a’ight?”

 

No words were spoken after that, but it didn’t mean Mickey had no idea what Ian was doing, thinking. His fingers were pressing ever so carefully into his hip, brushing the tattoo and pressing down on the burn whenever he gave a particularly hard thrust — so, Mickey didn’t complain, he got something good out of it. It was awkward, though. Ian seemed too into it but too distracted all at once, slowing down when Mickey didn’t want him to, and kissing the back of his neck. Mickey was just ... confused. He’d never seen the red on his hip, and now he despised himself even more, for somehow subconsciously letting the tattoo change, let his fate tie further with someone else’s. It pissed him off that he was beginning to fall into the deep end, so he swore that this would probably be the last time he fucked Gallagher, because he couldn’t handle the look in those green eyes when he was tracing the rose like it meant something to him. Fucking idiot, didn’t he have a boyfriend?

  “Guess this was like a booty call, huh?”

  “Whatever. See ya.”

 

Surprising himself, Mickey did keep away from Ian enough. Not too much, since he was a sixteen year old with a working sex drive, rose or no rose, and Ian gave it better than most of his other fuck buddies (who were female, sue him) but enough to prove his point that there was absolutely no strings in this. He was trying to keep away from his own home, though, since Terry didn’t actually seem to be going back to prison soon, so he was finding more entertaining things to do like getting wasted and beating his kids.

  “Aye,” Terry spoke, sitting up from his position on the couch, though wavering slightly, slopping the rest of his beer down his chest.

  “The fuck do you want?” Mickey didn’t look up from where he was cleaning and reloading weapons on the kitchen table. He was used to Terry enough to talk to him exactly how he deserved — like shit. Being the dysfunctional, ruined family they were, the man hardly expected or demanded respect.

  “Get me a beer.”

  “Get your own damn beer,” Mickey said, eyebrows scrunching a little as his tone went to pissed off quickly. His hands worked fast, shoving some bullets in the handgun he had, cocking it and then putting the safety on. He swiped a dirty rag over it to polish it before tossing it aside, sighing.

  “Disrespectful little cunt,” Terry was mumbling, like he gave a shit. “I said get me a fucking beer.”

  “And I said get your own fucking beer.”

  “Jesus, Mandy’s the only one who does shit around here.”

  Mickey stood up, as if he’d ever approach and start a fight with Terry. He grunted, “’cause you fuckin’ beat on her if she don’t.”

  Terry was beginning to sit up, so Mickey rolled his eyes and grabbed a cigarette, knowing a fight when he saw one coming. He just wasn’t in the mood for that shit today. They went back and forth a little more, until someone was knocking loudly on the door and Mickey went to get it. 

  “The fuck do you think you’re goin’?”

  “The door, asshole,” on the second time the knocks came, Mickey decided he wasn’t nearly high or drunk enough to deal with anyone’s shit. Even less so when he saw Ian Gallagher, green eyes glazed with tears, standing on the other side. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

  “I need to see you,” his voice was desperate, tears nearly falling now. His breath was short, cheeks flushed from the cold. Mickey wanted to slam the door for insinuating that they had any kind of relationship where they ‘needed’ each other, but his heart sank at the way Ian’s hair was ruffled and his cheeks tearstreaked. Jesus.

  “Not a good time,” he insisted gruffly, eyes darting back to his house and pulling the door slightly closer so Terry wouldn’t hear any of this shit. 

  “Please— I— I don’t know where else to go—”

  Mickey’s eyes dragged down the kid’s appearance, an urge in him wanting to just pull Ian into the house and make shit right. Sad, scared, desperate didn’t suit the redhead, and even Mickey had enough heart to realise that Ian must have had nowhere else to go if he was showing up on his doorstep unannounced. He took a deep inhale, pulling the door a little more and dropping his voice to something he hoped was softer, at least enough to stop some hysterics. “Thought you were workin’ today.”

  “Yea— I am, I mean ... I’m supposed to—” he spluttered, eyes all puffy and wet. “—Linda’s gonna have my ass an’—”

  Terry was yelling, causing Mickey to look back in the house and decide quickly. He couldn’t fucking leave the kid crying and alone, could he? “A’ight, I’ll be there in twenty.”

  Ian barely nodded before the door shut.


	4. Chapter 4

In both of their defences, only Ian knew that they were soulmates. When he panicked, his instinct was to turn to Mickey, even if it risked them both being found out. Mickey, unable to put two and two together about the red petal on his hip, was constantly confused as to why he felt compelled to make sure Gallagher was okay. He’d never cared for anyone he slept with, but some kind of unseen force within him made him want to show up at the Kash and Grab even when Terry was home, to let Ian take out his frustrations.

  When he got to the store, all Ian was doing was pacing in front of the counter, the door locked. Mickey tapped on the glass quickly, making sure to look around as if anyone knew what was going on, and Ian looked startled before he was letting the older in. With his now-rule of ‘no speaking’ (this meant no discussion of feelings, personal problems, and definitely not the rose on his hip), Mickey shouldn’t have been bothered by the lack of words he received. As it turned, he pulled back against Gallagher’s arm when the boy reached to pull him to the backroom. Ian turned around, looking hurt, like he was going to cry again, which should not have meant anything to Mickey, except he felt the urgent need to explain his actions quickly.

  “What’s ... what’s happened?” Mickey was never a talker. He spoke in curses, insults, threats, and hatred, but he bottled his own personal emotions. He didn’t care to listen to people whine about their shitty lives, or hold many conversations with meaning behind them — it wasn’t him. It just didn’t feel right to let Gallagher do the same, since the boy seemed to be all for chatting about anything, the lovestruck fucker he was, and having the boy withdrawn was too ... much.

  Ian’s eyebrows scrunched, green eyes scanning Mickey’s face as if searching for mockery. He shook his head, dropping their gaze. “Can we just ...?”

  “Whatever.” The half-question kind of hurt, like Gallagher couldn’t trust him or something. Technically, Mickey didn’t expect him to, yet normally he was the one asking for complete silence on whatever matter, and the change was harsher than he expected.

  The brunet tugged his shirt back down when Ian tried to remove it, turning around before he could catch the saddened look he got. After having the redhead find the tattoo, he hadn’t wanted to really be bare-chested at all, self-concious of being treated like less of a fucking man just because he had unexpected ink in his hip. Aside from that, apparently being upset didn’t take from how well Ian could fuck. It wasn’t far out of the norm, bar an aggression within Ian, who rested his hands far from Mickey’s hips, kept his lips far from Mickey’s neck. It felt cold, even with the increased heat they made together, to not have the younger male doing affectionate things. It made the tattoo burn uncomfortably, oppose to the pleasant tingle it normally gave when they fucked.

  To make up for this, Mickey felt Ian’s larger hand cover his own. He allowed it, in fact cherished having some contact beyond the obvious. They wouldn’t mention it afterward, so he saw no reason to not let Ian have whatever he wanted right now, to sooth what had upset him, even if Mickey’s curiosity piked and almost demanded to know what it was. By the time their hands were together, he was falling into that high, where he felt safe even under another man, happy and calm. So far into that high that he only turned when Ian hesistated, and what he saw scared him.

  Kash was stood at the door, facial expression sad. His eyes were set on Gallagher, so Mickey was quick to pull up his jeans and get the fuck out, pushing the man for good measure. It was the worst feeling to be running: he was a coward. He couldn’t go back home, he couldn’t go to the Alibi, he couldn’t even really be under the L at this time of day since the cold would creep up on him too quick.

  Nothing about what they’d been caught doing made Ian feel guilty. Since Kash and he had been caught — which was never a big deal anyway — he hadn’t been near the man much, had been so preoccupied with spending time with Mickey. He wanted to try and make at effort at a real relationship, without telling the Milkovich since that would drive him away. The soulmate thing was big to Ian, since Monica had ran out on Frank, no matter how much of a mess they were as a pair, and he didn’t want that kind of relationship. He guessed that now they’d been caught that they were over, and his face must have portrayed something of the sort as he pulled on his shirt and turned away from Kash.

  It was awkward, and all Ian wanted was to go and find Mickey, to try and explain that he didn’t have to be scared of Kash running his mouth. Who would Kash tell, anyway? Mickey had run off to his own little hideout, an old abandoned building that he kept a pillowcase with a gun, ammo, and various things to stack and shoot in. It was quiet, in its own way, and he perhaps thought of showing Gallagher this place — a more private, convient place to fuck, of course, nothing gay. It was high up, and had cracks in the walls with no glass in the windows, but it was more homely than his own place.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat up against one of those walls, smoking cigarettes. Honestly, he wasn’t all too fussed about Kash seeing them, knowing the man was probably scared of his own shadow, and had that little secret of his own with Ian. That sort of made Mickey feel sick, knowing that Kash’s hands had touched Ian’s skin before him, that the dude was a pervert and had loved Ian before. Mickey wasn’t sure what felt worse; the pang of unwanted jealousy, or the idea that Kash probably _loved_ Ian. He wasn’t claiming the redhead, since he made it very clear that it wasn’t like that, he just figured: if Ian was fucking other guys, the least he could do was get someone more decent than Mickey. Someone who would do all that sappy dating stuff with him, their roses both filled red, and they’d be happy.

  By nightfall, he was wandering back to the damn store to clear it up. He wanted to see if Gallagher had quit, or if Kash had told anyone, or something. Plus, he was kind of hungry, so he’d steal something just for the sake of proving his point. When he arrived, it seemed to just be Kash, who he looked at steadily, sizing him up to see if he could take him on in a fight. Judging by the silence, and lack of Terry beating him, Kash hadn’t left the store at all.

  “Damn right you’d keep your mouth shut,” he smiled, another slimy, daring smile. “You’d better keep it shut,” he continued, grabbing a Snickers and raising a brow at the other man. After the stress today, he kind of did want a fight, something to make him feel better and more manly for giving half a shit about Gallagher’s feelings.

  “Put the candy back, Mickey.”

  With a grin, Mickey only peeled back the wrapper and took a bite of the chocolate. He hummed. “Sweet. I like ’em sweet,” now he was pushing, almost daring Kash to punch him or say something back. He was by far not a stupid person, since he knew very well that Kash had been hurt by seeing Ian with someone else. “So do you, aye?”

  He laughed, turning around to go find something else to steal. It was like nothing had happened, and he was merely back into stealing — before Gallagher, before the tattoo, before anything regarding a slight possibility of being caught by Terry. Hell, he and Ian weren’t even that close, but Ian was the only person beside Mandy that he had a connection with.

  The next few minutes happened quickly, gunshots and bags of chips bursting and loud curses. Then, a big fucking pain in his thigh that had Mickey unable to do anything. All he could notice was Gallagher’s hands on his face, tilting it, his soft voice asking questions. It was a distraction from the pain, even if he didn’t let that on, and a very, very small satisfaction in seeing Ian choose him over Kash.

 

“Mickey!”

  Going to Juvie was like being welcomed back to a place where he was wanted. A few people called him happily, a few scattered instantly, as they watched him move on his crutches down to his cell. Having continued the family tradition of getting locked up by the age of twelve, he knew the gig. Never become below someone else, a mindset that set him coldhearted and cruel all over again. 

  “Aye, Paulson,” he grinned back at the dealer he and his brothers used before the guy got locked up. 

  “Keep walkin’,” the woman behind him muttered, and he rolled his eyes. A lot of new faces seemed to be here, reminding Mickey that he hadn’t been in Juvie for a good few months. 

  “How’s Iggy?”

  “Good, man, should be back in here soon, though.”

  Juvie wasn’t the worst. It gave him time to be away from family, his furious nicotine addiction, to think and get back into shape. Besides, he already had a few ‘friends’ on the inside, among enemies, so there was no reason to become a quiet, brooding asshole. He could be mouthy, stupid, and rude all he wanted: all they could really punish him with was more time, right?

 

“Yo, man, you got someone on the outside now?”

  Mickey instantly slammed down his carton of shitty orange juice, eyes darting and glaring at Anderson, a tall and skinny brown-haired boy he met on his first time in. He worried that his shirt had rode up, and his rose was visible, but found that the thing was still a little big for him. “The fuck you askin’ for?”

  “Aye, jus’ curious,” Anderson defended, raising his hands. “Noticed you been gettin’ more smokes, wondered if you got someone to last.”

  Mickey snorted. “Nah, probably pity money for my leg,” he was lying. He knew it must’ve been Ian, who he had seen shove Kash harshly as Mickey was being both arrested and medically treated at the same time.

  Anderson nodded. “Someone visiting you today?”

  Rolling his eyes, Mickey took a drink from his carton again. “I ever get someone to visit me? The fuck’s your brain at today?”

  “Dunno. Guess it’s cause of this,” he rolled up his sleeve, showing a rose design. All the petals were black. “Been stressin’ me. Hurts like a bitch, burns and shit.”

  “The fuck happened?”

  “She saw me bangin’ another chick.”

  “Fucking stupid, ain’t you? Aren’t you meant to stick to your soulmate or some shit? Once you know who it is?”

  “Yeah,” Anderson sighed. “Don’t matter, though, aye? Can just be like you from now, nobody to love.”

  Never had Mickey ever wanted to correct the fact that he was incapable of love. Now, he just wanted to confess that ‘hey, I got someone’ but it’d contradict his previous statement, so he shrugged and shoved some mashed potato in his mouth. 

 

Gallagher was stupid. Smarter than Mickey, but stupid nonetheless. Sitting behind the glass, still looking innocent and soft. Mickey wanted to be able to touch him, make sure his shit was settled, and tuck that damned red strand behind his ear; none of which he would admit to wanting, not even to himself. Either way, Gallagher didn’t belong in this shithole, not with his baby face and lanky figure.

  Worried, Mickey was looking around at the other delinquents during their conversation. It stopped him from blurting some bullshit, or thinking about the way Anderson’s rose was black and wondering if Ian’s was red with someone else’s love. 

  “I miss you.”

  Mickey regarded him, hoping that nobody else could hear that one statement that made his hip itch and his heart thud. “Say that again and I’ll rip your tongue outta your head.”

  Ian only smiled, feeling his heart swell a little. Mickey wasn’t great at hiding the way his lips tugged slightly or the blush on his cheek. He lifted his hand, resting his fingers on the glass, not knowing the way Mickey’s fingers twitched to do the exact same, out of view. It was dorky, but it may have been the only proper happiness Mickey got out of Juvie that time.


	5. Chapter 5

Footfalls fell in time along the sidewalk of an unfamiliar neighbourhood, a comfortable silence hanging in the air between Ian and Mandy as they walked together to the juvinile detention building. Ian was glad they weren’t saying much, sure that if she pried for a more real answer, he’d spill something embarassing or suspicious. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers curled loosely around his rose, feeling the way it shot sparks up his spine by merely touching it.

  It had been a few months since Mickey gotten locked up, and Ian couldn’t deny missing him. He tried to mimic what the dark-haired would do had it been Ian going to Juvie: fucked a couple of closested kids from school, but it felt too wrong and he stopped quickly. Every time he did it, it sent a burning through him, an unpleasant drop in both his gut and his head, feeling like he was betraying his soulmate — even if said soulmate had no idea and could care less. Playing it off was easy, a second nature to Ian, but he found that he struggled to concentrate in ROTC and in class, when his mind wanted to drift to Mickey, even if they were only a casual ‘relationship’ (a term of which he would never use around the boy himself). It was the fact that they were bound to each other that forced Ian to see bright blue eyes in his dreams, to miss the way Mickey’s skin felt under his own swirling fingertips, to miss his voice, even if it spewed violence and harsh words.

  Ian Gallagher was fucked, for sure.

  As he and Mandy arrived at the place, he recalled her asking why he insisted on coming, again. Ian simply explained it was a bad neighbourhood, which was true, but not why he was here with her. Whatever she was saying wasn’t truly processing, though, as Ian watched Mickey approaching them, dressed in just a tank top and jeans. He hadn’t changed; was still filthy, but his hair was shorter and he looked more muscular than when he went in.

  “The hell’s he doing here?”

  “Hey, Mick,” was what Gallagher said, and Mickey instantly noticed how his voice had dropped to a deeper tone. He was smiling in this goofy way, and Mickey tried to contain the way his own lips twitched to copy the action.

  Missing Ian Gallagher aside, Mickey had also really missed Mandy, so he pulled her into a hug as she was saying, “Thought I needed protection.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he was aware of how wide his smile was, and did nothing to change it. It made him happy to see that, even if Ian had grown taller and stronger, and had lost his god damn bangs, he was still a sweetheart, regardless of if the statement was true or not. It, at least, proved he’d been there for Mandy when Mickey couldn’t, which he could respect. “Trust me, you think you know my sister? You don’t know my sister ’til you’ve fought my sister. She’ll be protectin’ your ass.”

  Saying nothing, Ian only let himself have the moment to bask in the way his chest warmed upon something as simple as hearing Mickey speak. He watched their small squabble with a fond grin, and then laughed under his breath as Mickey said his ‘fuck you’s to the people in Juvie. Mickey felt happier than he had in a long time, really. The sun was hot, scorching, actually, and not only was he out of that shithole but both Mandy and Ian had come to see him first. It was nice to be happy for a moment, he told himself. Hell, even his hip had stopped itching.

  “Come on, let’s get outta here before they throw you back in,” Ian’s arm was moving to go over his shoulder, and Mickey allowed it for a second. Let the touch make him happy, since, yeah, he had missed Gallagher, before it alarmed him and he threw the arm off of him. He didn’t want to have spent all that time in Juvie to have people find out that he was ... _that_ ... as soon as he was let out, even if the gesture could be perceived as just friendly. Being on edge was his raising, unfortunately, and he needed Ian to know the limit of how much he could touch Mickey in public — he couldn’t.

  The trip back to the Southside didn’t consist of much. Mandy and Mickey caught back up quickly, and Mandy tried to hold Ian’s hand even if he playfully pushed her away, yet no words were exhanged between the two males. It was easier, Mickey thought, to ignore Ian than he had expected. He liked the way Ian had matured a little bit — his hair was shorter, and his skin adorned with even more freckles than he remembered, his eyes still bright and green, though much less childish than they were. Less lovestruck, honestly, which was something that settled rather uncomfortably with Mickey.

  “Aye, you don’t gotta walk us all the way home, Gallagher.”

  “Don’t be such a dick, Mickey,” Mandy said, shoving her brother. “He can come over if he wants.”

  “Uh ...” Ian looked at Mickey, who was staring with an intense look and raised eyebrows. “No, I actually gotta watch Liam for a bit.”

  “Oh ... well, we can walk by your house anyway,” Mandy smiled, which Ian grinned at but Mickey rolled his eyes to. There didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky today, and the streets were only somewhat busy with kids and people setting up pools and shit. Summer sucked, Mickey thought to himself as Mandy and Ian started talking about this or that again. He’d always kind of hated the summertime, since it ruined his hardcore, ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe by having everyone happy; now additioned with the fact that he had less layers to hide his tattoo behind.

  Mind elsewhere, it wasn’t until Mandy was kissing Ian’s cheek that he realised they were outside of the house. Mickey envied houses like this — big, open, and friendly. His had the look of a criminal’s house, dark and uninviting, but nobody really needed to know how, as a kid, he’d always envied families like the Gallaghers, who had big smiles even with a shitty dad and runaway mom. All Mickey had were bruises and a faded memory of his mother.

  Mandy’s eyes turned to see Mickey after her goodbyes with Ian. “Come on, douchebag.”

  Blue eyes shot up to Ian, who was stood awkwardly on his porch, already looking at him. He pushed his hands into his pockets and looked down as he said, “Nah, I gotta pick up some weed from the other asshole. You go ahead.”

  Shrugging, Mandy flipped him off and called a sweet, ‘bye Ian!’ while the ginger lifted a brow at Mickey. The raven-haired rolled his eyes and grabbed Ian’s wrist, pulling him around the back of the house where they wouldn’t be quite so easily seen together. He wasn’t planning on staying, just wanted to have a small moment with Gallagher to hold onto for the rest of the day, even if it sounded gay. Said Gallagher looked surprised, though still just as smug as he had when he saw Mickey coming out of Juvie.

  Thumb swiping over his bottom lip, Mickey looked around cautiously, before he stepped toward the taller. Ian wasn’t sure what was happening, knew Mickey wasn’t ever going to kiss him, especially not here, so prepared to be interrogated on whether he had spilled Mickey’s secret or a punch in the face. The concept of the latter had him tensing, until Mickey’s arms slowly were going around his middle and he was — he was  _hugging_ Ian. Slowly, the redhead let his hands drop to Mickey’s waist and circle it, resting his chin on top of black locks of hair, finding that he much preferred being taller than Mickey than being the same in height. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Ian smiled. He felt alive, in a way, to have some kind of affection semi-publicly with Mickey, something he never thought he’d get again, or anticipated in the first place.

  When his fingers began to trace circles, pushing up Mickey’s tank top a small amount to try and subtly get to the rose (because, damn him, he was curious to see whether it had changed), Mickey pushed away and stepped back, looking around again. Ian hated that fear in his eyes, even though the brunet’s heart was racing and adrenaline was forcing him a pleasant happiness. Danger had always enticed Mickey, after all. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word.”

  “Wasn’t going to,” Ian’s freckled hands came up in defence, and his eyes narrowed before he grinned, cheesy and contagious.

  “I ... a’ight, you free later?”

  “Depends. Why?”

  “Don’t ask me fuckin’ why, asshole,” Mickey looked down, shoving at Ian’s shoulder, with no real anger to it. Playfully, Ian’s mind provided. “I’m askin’ if you wanna hang out later. Just us.”

  His eyebrows raised suggestively, and Ian wished he wasn’t quite so disappointed with the fact that Mickey had only done this because he wanted to fuck. He half-wanted to just hang out, like friends, not even lovers. Either way, any opportunity to spend extended time with Mickey was good. “Sure.”

  “A’ight, cool,” Mickey smiled, eyes shining in that way that he would punch anyone for pointing out. He wasn’t expecting a rejection, yet a sense of relief washed over him upon hearing Ian say he would. “’Bout eleven? I’ll come here, then we can go to the place, yeah?”

  “Awesome.”

  It was strange to see Mickey walking away as Ian leaned back with a smile, arms crossing to watch him go. Much like his sister, he flipped him off, and carried on while Ian tuned into the sounds from inside his own house, since they’d gotten louder, more clear, now that he was zoning away from the little bubble Mickey had created for them. He could hear crashing, and Fiona yelling at Carl, which was nothing far out of the norm, so he creaked open the door and entered his home, unaware of the smile still plastered on his lips.

  “Ian, hey!” Fiona smiled at him briefly, then turned back to Carl, who was grinning. She smacked him upside the head. “The bat’s for killing people, not smashing the house, go put it back.”

  Ian watched his brother laugh in that weird, mischevious way that he did as he went with the bat, back upstairs. Ian knew he didn’t put it where it belonged, would find it in their room later, but was preoccupied with opening the fridge and pouring himself some orange juice. He heard Fiona’s footsteps, saw her lean against the counter and grab a glass to pour herself some.

  “What you so happy about?” she questioned, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a drink. Her eyebrow arched, eyes still regarding him. 

  “S’been a good day,” Ian said, albeit slightly bashfully. 

  “You hung out with Mandy, right?”

  “Yeah,” he smiled, since they were still holding up this ‘fake relationship’ thing. Fiona knew Ian was gay, so she went along with it as his cover. It had worked all through last year, since nobody gave him shit or even suspected his soulmate was, in fact, her brother, who was very much a male. 

  Fiona hummed, nodding. “How’s that goin’, huh?”

  “Good,” Ian grinned. “Yeah, good. You seen Lip?”

  Fiona shook her head, taking another drink. “Nah, he and Kev are probably doin’ the ice cream truck. Why?”

  “Curious,” the redhead said, even though he only wanted to speak to Lip about what he was meant to do if his soulmate was only in it for sex. Now that he thought about it, though, he already knew Lip would just ask him rhetorically what the problem with that is. A lifetime of good sex? Jesus, who would he be to complain? “I’m gonna go make sure Carl hasn’t broken the room by now.”

  “Yeah, I’m goin’ out with V later. You alright on your own with Carl?”

  “Sure, but I’m out tonight. Lip should be home then, though.”

  The siblings departed and Ian jogged up the stairs, intent on possibly finding something else to wear for the ‘not-date’ later on.

 

By eleven, Debbie had gone to bed and Carl had pretended to, since Liam didn’t sleep unless he thought everyone else was. Ian laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling while he waited for the time to pass. As his watch beeped for eleven, he slowly pushed himself up and slipped on his shoes, shutting the door behind him. Downstairs, he saw Lip on the couch, beer in one hand and eyes glued to whatever was on TV. He glanced back when he heard the redheard. “Where’re you goin’?”

  Ian tried to think on the spot for a lie, then saw Lip’s expression and decided that he didn’t have to. “Got a date.”

  Nodding, Lip turned back to the TV, and Ian was thankful that his older brother wouldn’t press for details, even if he already knew about Mickey. “Don’t forget to use a rubber.”

  Ian laughed, and shut the doors behind him. It was dark, but it was boiling as if the sun were still out, and Ian may not have known where Mickey was if he couldn’t see the lit cigarette dangling from the boy’s lips as he leaned against the fence around the Gallagher house. Smiling to himself, Ian jogged down the steps and greeted the boy with a simple ‘hey’. He got a grunt in response, and they remained silent as they walked through the streets. It was oddly calmer at night, especially with Mickey. People still yelled in the distance, homeless people still slept right where you could trip over them, but being with Mickey kind of made the rest of the world go away for a short while.

  Eventually, they were walking into the baseball field of school, abandoned. It brought Ian a wave of nostalgia for when he used to be into that kind of stuff ... now it all revolved around the army, unlike Mickey, who was used to these places since he dealt drugs in them. He figured they were far enough away from anyone to speak to the other, which he could have done a lot sooner if his stomach hadn’t been doing somersaults and his throat dry of words. 

  “Hot as balls tonight,” he commented, gathering saliva in his mouth before spitting it to get the feel back into his throat. When around Ian, he almost choked around his words, like they were harder to spit out. For once, he almost wanted to be careful about what he said and when, since driving away the one dude who actually showed interest in him would be stupid, especially since it dulled down the way his tattoo would burn and set a fire alight in his heart. 

  “So I’m taking Geometry, Trigonometry, Chemistry,” the way he worded it so casually made Mickey wonder how it was only him who struggled to find things to say. Gallagher seemed flawless with words, better than he was before Mickey went to Juvie. The confidence looked better on him than the previous cowardace Mickey was used to. 

  “During the summer?” was his reply, eyebrows at his hairline and surprise in his voice. Ian never seemed the type to give that much of a fuck about school — wasn’t it the other Gallagher that was the genius?

  “Try’na get into West Point.”

  Instantly, a bitter feeling went into Mickey’s bloodstream. The army wasn’t something he wanted to do, and certainly wasn’t what he wanted Ian to do. Granted, he had no control on it, as he reminded himself, but West Point was the bigger shit. People who wanted to be in the army and _stay_ in the army.

  All these feelings translated into a chuckle. “You want the army to give you a gun, all you gotta do is sign up. Recruiting station’s, like, two blocks that way.” He hoped that’s all Ian wanted, and just hadn’t realised. He gestured in the general direction and went back to unzipping the bag he’d brought to take the edge off, since being tipsy was something he’d missed in Juvie, and it was much easier to be in a good mood under the influence of alcohol. 

  “But I want to be an officer,” Ian reasoned, and Mickey’s heart dropped a little. He distracted himself with sorting out the bag, and the redhead just watched, pleased that Mickey was showing even a small interest in Ian’s life beyond his dick. 

  “You wanna be an officer, huh?” Mickey snorted, even if his voice wavered. Oh well, kid would probably lose his dream in a couple months, right? “Don’t officers get shot first?”

  He smiled at Ian over his shoulder, then fished out a beer and poked a hole in the bottom, wanting their conversation to go away from the army and the possibility of losing Ian.

  “Here, shotgun.”

  He drank, let the booze trail down his throat before moving the can to Ian’s mouth, hand lingering longer than it should have as he watched with a grin as Ian drank, then coughed and spluttered. He was still cute. 

  “So, you make a lot of friends on the inside—?”

  “You wanna chit-chat more or you wanna get on me?”

 

Time with Ian always seemed to go too fast, and Mickey was thankful for the nightfall, as he had the redhead all to himself until sunrise if he so wanted. The sprinklers went off, cooling his heated skin and letting a kind, butterfly-like feeling sit in his stomach. Jealousy had almost arose thinking of whether Ian had fucked anyone else, but soon settled once he had the kid draped over his back.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that here!” he yelled into the silence, laughing as he buckled his pants back up. “Get back at the Little League commission who kicked me off my baseball team for pissing on first base.”

  Ian grinned, refreshing his mind to the very old memory of the shortest boy in the team, who had dirty black hair and a cute button nose that was always red. He was scruffy, and Fiona always said stay away, but when he pissed on first base, Ian, at such a young age, couldn’t help but admire the humor of it. “I remember.”

  “You heard about that?” Mickey smiled, since Ian’s happiness was contagious. 

  “I was playing second,” Ian’s energy was still high, adrenaline pumping through his being and spreading like wildfire. He hoisted himself up and began to do pull-ups, wanting to show Mickey how much stronger he was now. He had put on a tighter shirt before, but hadn’t caught Mickey staring, therefore thought it went unnoticed.

  “Fuckin’ tough guy, huh?” Mickey drank to hide his smile. He wasn’t stupid, by any means. Of course he knew Ian tried to impress him, and by now, yes, he’d worked out they were soulmates. If the newly-red inked petal on his hip after their small embrace earlier didn’t give it away, he wasn’t sure what would. It didn’t bother him, though, since what he and Ian currently had was good and discreet and didn’t need to be changed or discussed just because he finally realised who exactly Ian Gallagher was, and why he was so drawn to him and compelled to make sure he was okay. 

  They swapped, and Mickey did pull-ups, letting his tank ride up so Ian could see the new ink. Said Gallagher smiled, admiring not only Mickey’s strength but how the rose on his hip was red. He liked that it wasn’t going to be confusing for the other, even if it meant his own rose colored black-and-white forever. Mickey jumped back down, grinning as Ian nodded his approval.

  “Not much to do in the joint other than work out.”

  The soulmate subject went unspoken, which was better for them both. It did scare Mickey. It nagged his mind right there and then, wanting to know if Ian had a rose, too. He’d just willingly shown his, why didn’t Ian have one? He worried momentarily that Ian didn’t have one, since he’d not caught glimpse of any ink on the Gallagher at all, but it came back to him quickly.

  Only people who weren’t originally meant to have soulmates got tattoos.

  Whatever. He wasn’t a pussy, he could try and revert back to the fact that he wasn’t meant to have a soulmate if he wanted. Besides, all the thoughts of the rose and the red that matched Ian’s hair was making his headache, and he had only wanted a calm night reuniting with Gallagher. Lighting up a smoke, he let his mind settle on their conversation, where Ian was saying that he could get a job at the Kash and Grab. It went back and forth, but Mickey gave up his fight with the knowledge that it could mean more time with Ian and less time with Terry at home.

  Now, everything was good. Things didn’t need to change. He felt safe. 


	6. Chapter 6

Vaugely, in the deep vaults of his mind, Mickey remembered his mother. It wasn’t much, since it had been so long and he had repressed the few memories he had, but he did remember her. Most people were under the impression that she was a beautiful woman, mistreated and kind, but his mother was a mess; high all the time, sleeping with other men to run from Terry, even if she always came crawling back, though she tried to disguise it by giving her kids weak advice they’d never remember, pretending she was coming home to be a mother. All Mickey remembered of her voice was that it was raspy from thousands of cigarettes, and she had said, ‘good things never last, Mikhailo.’ While it was not much, a stupid, drunken quote, it did stick with Mickey.

  As the raven-haired woke to the usual clattering, screaming and smashes of the Milkovich home, that stupid, drunken quote was at the front of his mind. His ribs ached, having slept on his stomach on the worn, hard matress with yellowing stains, and his gut felt like it was in his feet, an empty feeling fresh in his chest and gloom in his head. Pale legs swung over the side of his bed, tattooed hand reaching for cigarettes as he did so, head pounding and repeating to himself how much of a fool he was.

  Only had it been mere days since he was let out of Juvie, and already everything sucked once more. Nobody but Mandy acted, or even acknowledged, that he’d gone anywhere, let alone come back, too, meaning he’d come back to his dysfunctional family and a house that reeked of piss, without a bat of an eyelash. It was so ... normal ... that if Mickey didn’t know any better, he’d vouch that he had just imagined his night with Gallagher — alas, he did know better, and he also knew the second he saw his dad again that whatever he and the ginger had going was not _okay_ , and it was not _safe_ or whatever other faggy things he thought under those highschool bleachers.

  His door swung open quickly, smashing against his wall hard enough to knock a few things off the dresser, and Mickey was quick to instinctively yank his sheets over his hips. Colin beelined for the bathroom, not sparing him a glance, and Mickey sighed. The cigarette was hardly relieving him, just making him think more, which he needed less of. Slowly, he got up, grabbing a tank top and pulling it on — damn the hot weather for forcing him to sleep without it — and left Colin to take his dump in peace while he grabbed some fucking breakfast.

  Mickey was ignored as he walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. Alcohol in the morning was the Milkovich equivalent of cereal and milk, after all, he thought as he took a swig and opened a top cupboard, eyes scanning. “Yo, the fuck ate my poptarts?”

  “I did, asshole,” Mandy spoke from the table, mouthful of poptart. “You wanna claim them, you pay for ’em.”

  “Skank,” he replied with a little too much venom to be playful,  stalking over and grabbing the one that lay on her plate. He didn’t give a fuck, today was gonna be a shitty day regardless.

  “You showin’ up on your first day of work in your boxers?” she asked with a snort, leaving Mickey to wonder for a moment what the fuck she was talking about. His raised, accusing eyebrow forced an explanation. “Ian texted me. Said the boss would fire your ass if you didn’t show. You’re already fuckin’ late.”

  Panic rose instantly. Unaware as she may be, Mandy mentioning that name in front of Terry shot a spark of fear through his entire being, as if the man had any idea. Mickey was all too aware of the burning in his hip. Angrily, he tossed his beer bottle, snapping, “Tell the asshole I’ll get there when I want to, and he and his boss can just fuckin’ deal with it,” before storming off. Mandy watched with wide eyes as he shoved Colin into the doorframe and slammed that same door behind him, cardboard ‘STAY THE FUCK OUT’ sign nearly falling in the process. 

  This was already too much. He’d just left a group of delinquents and suddenly everything was _Ian, Ian, Ian_. He was there when he was let out, he was there to offer and get Mickey a job, he was showing his stupid face in his dreams, he was texting Mandy about Mickey and having his name mentioned _in front of Terry_. He was everywhere, and Mickey wasn’t sure he could even take up this security job when seeing Ian Gallagher was his main issue right now. 

  Fuck this. Fuck soulmates, fuck being gay, and fuck Ian Gallagher. 

 

Nothing happened that either Ian, or Mickey, really unexpected. The redhead sat behind the counter doing schoolwork, Mickey had a girl-on-girl magazine open and was flicking through it, and even the damn sun outside was more inviting than being stuck in this boring place for another few hours. When he had gotten there, aside from the massive, goofy grin, Ian had given Mickey a dark blue jacket that said ‘SECURITY’ on it, which Mickey couldn’t wait to rip the sleeves off. 

  “Hey, Ian?” came the annoying voice of Linda, whom Mickey already hated. He could cut her some slack, since her shithead, pervert of a husband had fucked off, but she was harsh, and kept calling Ian for things that she didn’t necessarily need Ian for. After saying something about a sandwich, Mickey heard her say something with his name, so looked up at where the speaker was with a raised brow. “Oh, and tell Mickey that if a pack of gum goes missing, he’d gone.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Mickey went back to his magazine, tuning out her rambling about inventory and whatever Lip and Kev were taking for their ice cream truck — Mickey knew what it was, after Ian had explained. He was aware of a couple of kids stuffing their pockets and said, “you two can either put that back or I can smash your skulls on the pavement.”

  They soon rushed, and Mickey was internally pleased to see how Ian smirked a little bit as they walked to help load things into the van. Lip started speaking to Ian, and Mickey wasn’t sure why he was still stood there, but his feet seemed glued to the ground: wanting to hear what was said, feeling far too out of place to waltz back into the store on his own, even though he could.

  “Keep it up with those Geometry Theorems.”

  Shit. That was the other conflicting part in this mess, the brunet thought. Ian was working hard, it seemed, which meant he was stepping closer to joining every minute, and by the end of summer, he may even already have this Westpoint thing in the bag. It still gave his stomach a sick feeling to think about Ian Gallagher, his innocent redhead of a soulmate, getting shot on a battlefield — who’d willingly go into that? 

  “Geometry Theorums? For the army?”

  “Artilleries, motors, bomb dejectories: it’s all Geometry,” Ian didn’t miss the way Mickey only spoke properly when nobody else was around. He knew Mickey was smart, listened to those around him when he didn’t feel the need to speak, which made him speaking to Ian a nice thing. It was like they were friends — Ian knew Mickey was only passing the time with words, but he could pretend for a little while. “I mean, it’s a little confusing at first, but if you put enough hours in and study hard: you can learn anything.”

  Mickey was going to reply, say something witty along the lines of asking Ian how long he’d been a fuckin’ philosopher or some shit, but his voice instantly died in his throat as he heard the boy’s father speak. He knew Frank; tripped over him sometimes on the sidewalk, heard his godforsaking rambling in the Alibi, and, lastly, knew the way he treated his kids. Picking out another magazine, Mickey ignored whatever bullshit the man was spewing, figuring that he’d want Ian to keep his mouth shut had it been Mickey’s dad. Then again, he wouldn’t let himself and Ian be caught dead in the same room as each other in front of his dad.

  It could have been this whole soulmate thing, which he still hardly knew much about, that made Ian’s voice louder and clearer to his ears than anyone’s. He sounded stressed, bored and sick of Frank, who was saying someone else would pay for the shit he was buying, and Mickey kind of hated that. Not only was Frank walking over another one of his children, but he wasn’t beating the shit out of him for his bad attitude, which was what Mickey would have gotten. Maybe Mickey envied their relationship, as much as Ian despised Frank and Frank didn’t give two shits, because it was ... something less than abusive. Even so, he didn’t want Frank walking over Ian like that, so squared his shoulders and crossed his arms in front of the door.

  “Hey, Frank. Let’s check your pockets again, maybe you overlooked something,” he spoke, eyeing up the drunk. Ian sat, watched. Mickey was basically radiating the fact that he was pissed off, and Ian could hardly blame him since Frank was annoying as fuck.

  “You work here now?”

  “Job basis.”

  “You know what, Mick,” perhaps the anger flashed in Mickey’s eyes. Nobody called him _Mick_. Whatever it was, the tension in the store upped, and Frank recovered, “you may— oh, look at that.”

  Leaving a twenty on the counter, Frank left, leaving Mickey to feel safe enough to go back into a closer range of Ian. “That the kind of leadership you plan to bring to the army?”

  “Says last night’s bottom.” For a moment, Mickey almost narrowed his eyes and hissed at the blunt statement, but relaxed. It was a joke. They could do that, now, right?

  “Whatever. Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch,” he flipped open the magazine, snatching a few glances at Ian as he skimmed pages. It was cool that he had calmed down since being here (despite what people thought, Mickey didn’t really _enjoy_ being angry at everything), and nothing seemed to have been going wrong yet. The better part of his brain said that it was just the aura Ian gave: it made Mickey happy, which made his logic waver. After a good few minutes of watching Ian tap his pencil mindlessly, he spoke up again. “Not workin’ very hard on your theorems there, tough guy.”

  “I’m ...” Ian paused. It was kind of embarrassing to admit that his brain was going to mush looking at all these points and angles and shapes. “It makes no sense.”

  For a moment, Mickey’s lip twitched. Ian may have filled out a little, but he was still the adorable Ian Gallagher that had visited him in Juvie. “Need some help?”

  Raising an eyebrow, the Gallagher looked at him skeptically. The offer was flattering, albeit a small part embarrassing, and he didn’t want to give it up ... except, with Mickey, you had to challenge him to get anything. “Thought you dropped outta school.”

  Snorting, the Milkovich dropped his magazine and walked around the counter, leaning an arm on it to the side of Ian to comfortable bend down to look over his shoulder at the books he had. “This is easy shit, man. You just gotta take this,” he pointed to an ‘x’ on the page, “and add it to this,” he pointed to a number, then paused. “Hold on, the fuck you been adding these for?”

  Ian looked down at where his finger was pointing, slight disappointment washing over him. Normally, when he failed, it wasn’t so bad, but having Mickey know he failed made him feel a little ... small. It was strange, since he was almost always the larger in their ‘not-relationship’ and it tugged at his heart in a way when Mickey sighed and his eyes grew sympathetic.

  “A’ight, a’ight, move your chair back.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it, Gallagher.”

  Confused, Ian pushed his chair back a little, and found that the brunet rolled his eyes and sat down, right in his lap. Startled, a ‘what the fuck’ was close to leaving Ian’s lips, but Mickey was already talking, pointing at things and saying numbers like this was fucking normal. Ian could hardly miss the way the boy’s cheeks tinged pink. Surpressing a giddy smile, Ian’s hands came to rest on Mickey’s hips, knowing he was pushing it, and he let his eyes fall innocently onto the page.

  “Alright, listen the fuck up, I ain’t explain’ this shit twice without bein’ paid extra,” spoke the Milkovich, though his voice wavered. His hip had that pins-and-needles feeling he got when he and Ian touched, which was a little distracting, but whatever. He couldn’t stand looking at Ian’s blank puppy face any longer. “Okay, start with the basic shit. This,” he pointed to a shape, “should add up to a hundred-eighty, aye?” Ian nodded, eyes on Mickey’s profile. “And they already gave you an angle of it. These two look identical, so would be this,” a point, “taken from a hundred-eighty,” a wild hand gesture, “halved.”

  “Uh ...” The redhead probably knew it, somewhere in the back of his mind. However, his focus could only be on Mickey, and how different he was up-close when they weren’t in that horny, lustfilled haze. A while ago, Ian would have thought the kid unattractive by nature and looks, but Mickey was gorgeous, he realised. He had flushed cheeks, with small clusters of freckles adorning them, and plump lips that his tongue licked over every now and again, and eyelashes that were long and casted shadows when he blinked — but, oh god, his eyes.

  They were oceans, swirling whirlpools of endless abyss that were so easy to fall into, yet so brutal. Mickey’s had this tinge of teal green in them, the light reflecting off of them so brightly, which took away from how the dirt clung to his pale skin and how there was an old scar under one of his eyes. Hell, Ian figured: if he already knew his soulmate was Mickey, he may as well be on his way to knowing every freckle on his skin, start to fall in love with him to make their time together sweeter.

  Mickey, of course, was apparently oblivious, and brought Ian back to earth with a sharp elbow to the rib. “Gallagher! You hearin’ me, asshole? I a’ready said I ain’t explainin’ again.”

  “You’re getting a stubble,” Ian said thoughtfully, eyes on the shadow on the underside of the boy’s jaw.

  “Dude, what the fuck?”

  Ian leaned forward a little, pressing an experimental kiss to the scratchy expanse. Predictably, Mickey flinced away fast, yet never left Ian’s arms, just sighed in this frustrated way that made the redhead wonder if kissing him was really _that_ wrong. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down.

  “For fuck’s—” Mickey took a deep breath, then nodded to himself. “Whatever. It’s a’ight. Just ... don’t do that shit, Gallagher, got it?” When Ian nodded, he glanced down at the books. “You get any of what I said?” Ian shook his head slowly. “Shithead. Alright, so ...” and he went on with his explanation again, pausing every now and again to make sure Ian was keeping up. He’d ask questions, ask Ian to point at points and angles he should work out, and if he got it wrong, Mickey would gently place his tattooed hand over Ian’s pale one and move it to the correct place.

  He was fucked. So very fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo this aint the best but i had to get smth out so this is what you get for now

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr; miilkovichh


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